I no longer want to be a part of the land of the living.

Whenever I listen to Ben Folds I pretend that I'm "Kate" or that "Brick" isn't really about abortion, but it's just that one line : "now that I have found someone, I'm feeling more alone than I ever have before": repeated endlessly.
I wonder what that says about a person? I'm beginning to think that, all mediating circumstances aside, I am just a lonely, morose and darkly pensive person. I'm still working on the what-to-do-now 0f that realization. I feel like no one could ever be expected to love someone like that.

New Years Resolution

whatever happened to this thing? When I moved I left too many things behind.

It has been a long time since I have been close to someone in the way that I could touch them whenever I wanted. I forget the sensation of touch, the intimacy of being inside-out with another person. A few weeks ago as I rode my daily commute on the bus, a young man sat down on the plush micro-fiber seat next to me. With so many people jammed together in the vehicle like cattle, our limbs were pressed up next to each other. He wasn’t aware, but this rare moment of skin to skin contact from elbow to thigh both thrilled and excited me. I wondered how long it had been since I had been held, hugged, or even offered a handshake. All at once I became overwhelmed with the sadness of it all, the fact that he could sit absent-mindedly next to me while my heart became flooded. I thought I might give it away then, and my ribcage, like a dam, would break to pieces while I burst and melted into the carbon fibers. I hardly noticed when my stop arrived, and solemnly walked into my home, dropped my bag and considered crying; but I wouldn’t allow myself the luxury.

Matter-of-Fact

When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay.
Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
After a rain. They click upon themselves
As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells
Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust--
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away
You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
So low for long, they never right themselves:
You may see their trunks arching in the woods
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground
Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.
But I was going to say when Truth broke in
With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm
(Now am I free to be poetical?)
I should prefer to have some boy bend them
As he went out and in to fetch the cows--
Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,
Whose only play was what he found himself,
Summer or winter, and could play alone.
One by one he subdued his father's trees
By riding them down over and over again
Until he took the stiffness out of them,
And not one but hung limp, not one was left
For him to conquer. He learned all there was
To learn about not launching out too soon
And so not carrying the tree away
Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise
To the top branches, climbing carefully
With the same pains you use to fill a cup
Up to the brim, and even above the brim.
Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,
Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.
So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
And so I dream of going back to be.
It's when I'm weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
From a twig's having lashed across it open.
I'd like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate willfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth's the right place for love:
I don't know where it's likely to go better.
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

I buy myself flowers

I've also started sleeping in the middle of the bed surrounded by books, signals of independence, or loneliness - or hopelessness;; can't tell.

always hiding

I haven't had much to say; I feel an affinity with semicolons.

the floor of my room is tiled with books
If people saw the world for what it truly is, saw their lives for what they truly are., without dreams or illusions, I don't believe they could offer the first reason why they should not elect to die as soon as possible
- Cormac McCarthy

considering singular movie trips

Like a woman wanting to be held by her lover
I too, wish to linger in the comfort
of a dark cinema
if I have been moved by its musings
and am given the allowance of silent tears
I wish to enjoy them
long after the patrons have transpired

epiphany

shit, I suddenly realized that I'm way in the bell jar.

1) Currently, messy haired, braless, stone cold steve austin t-shirt and long johns
2) all I ate today? a box of apple jacks
3) I'm on a week-long OC marathon, hello 2004: better times


I need to fix this immediately, I mean how the hell is seasonal depression so sneaky and infiltrating? help. help. help.

I just wish I could stop being so damn sad all the time. I remember exactly where I was this time last year, in the same rut. some things have changed, but not many. I can just bet that in 2 months time, when I am forced to finally complete this year of my life, I will end up crying tears of apathy and discontent in traffic. Power of suggestive thinking? perhaps. I should be able to fix this, I really should. But I can't, that, in and of itself, is only making things worse.

Night Moves

all I do is eat, sleep, watch re-runs of the O.C. on the soap network (new low), and do homework. By homework I mean consuming mass amounts of Haribo with my books in my lap whilst watching the O.C. Good thing I'm still on season 1 because I have a month left to kill in this awful city. Sunshine awaits, I just have to keep reminding myself.

"HELL HATH NO FURY, LIKE A WOMAN SCORNED"

let the roommate wars begin.

one day I'd like to know what it is to be truly happy.

Under the Bridge

Sometimes I hate cursing. It makes me feel dirty, carnal, in a way that doesn't fit my personality. Other times it is the clearest way to express how I feel. As in: I want to fuck Anthony Kiedes.